A Newspaper's Life
by Willow Myst
Summary: Thought it would be interesting to examine a typical day from an atypical point to view.


Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.

Black. Pitch black. I awoke feeling pressure on all sides of my body, packed in so tightly no light reached me. I felt myself being picked up, jostles around and set down with a thunk. And still, it was dark. I must have stayed that way four hours, stiff and crisp, and smelling the similar odor of those around me. 

Then again, I was tossed about, as all around me came to life. I could hear the presses around me, clamoring loudly. Suddenly there was light, and I was sliding down, down, and all around. Black ink oozed into my pores as I felt myself being pressed and folded. Then I was tossed on a stack once more, and tied down with rough string. 'Hey, gently buddy!'

I could hear some boy yelling, "Get the lead outta yer pants!" The dude slapped me, "These is for the newsies," and I was carried off. 

I was set down in a room with a barred window and a big fat guy. Then another stack was dumped on top of me and all was black again.

I heard the window open shortly thereafter, the fat guy grumbling all the while. Soon I heard young boys and the occasional girl ordering papers, and the pressure from above gradually lessened. I saw light once more.

"Fifty papes, please," I was handed to some boy in a red shirt, in exchange for a few coins. It is such a blow to be sold, my self confidence dropped 45% at that moment! 

The dude hoisted me over his shoulder and clambered down the stairs. 'Watch it, that hurt! You have a very bony shoulder, and couldn't you move a little more smoothly?'

All around I heard the noises of life on the streets. The clip-clop of horses, the screams of children, the flap of clothing in the wind. Joyfully, my bonds were cut and I was lifted free of the confining string. I was held up as the boy looked me up and down, reading my body and fingering my pages. 'Hey, stop it, that tickles!'

"Not much today - again," my master complained to another, "When will the headlines ever improve?"

I scowled inwardly, who did this kid think he was? My headlines aren't that bad, and it's not like he could do any better. Besides, he should have looked closer to page three - _Forrest Fire in Missouri_ isn't that bad. 

Suddenly he shook me. Can you believe it? The nerve of that guy! Then he held me up exposing me to all of New York City! No respect.

"British boat seen in Atlantic Ocean." The idiot, no one cares about the British! And where else would their boats be? The Indian Ocean? 'That article is a joke, kid, turn the page.' Surprisingly, no one bought a paper. 

"Huge forest fire, just outside of city!" 

'Not bad, you finally found it, buddy.'

"Thank you, sir," I was exchanged for a penny. Can you believe that? I'm only worth a penny! It's disgraceful! I was carried down the street, rolled up in one of the guy's dirty hands. The dude talked to himself, too, mumbled something about some lady. He didn't even bother to look at me, he just kept walking and mumbling. How insulting! I tried to figure out where he was taking me, but I didn't recognize the area. 'This side of town looks awful nice for you, buddy. What're you going to do, rob a house?'

He walking into a really fancy home, and I was beginning to wonder what was going to happen to me. He seemed to know where he was going though, because he navigated the stairs and hallways easily and no one stopped him. No one smiled at him either, though.

He took me into a sunny room with lots of books, up to an old lady sitting on a wicker rocking chair. With a grunt, I was handed over and he made his exit. I wasn't sorry to see him go, let me tell you.

Well, the old lady spread me out and began to read me. She smelled like peppermint and her face was really wrinkly, but her hands were soft and gently, a welcome change from the coarse hands of the other guy. The old lady read me front to back, examined every inch of me. The attention was nice, but tiring. You would never guess how much energy it takes to be a newspaper. 

Finally she set me down and left the room, I was alone and at peace once again. It was quiet and I began to wonder what would happen when the day ended. 'No one wants a day old newspaper. Face it, buddy, once the sun sets, you're finished.'

I didn't have time for further contemplation, as grubby guy came back in and grabbed me. He carried me down the stairs and into a very hot room From the hustle and bustle, banging pans and delicious smells, I figured it must be the kitchen. I was set on a table with a "Here's the day's paper." The guy left and some skinny girl picked me up. Glancing through me, she said, "Not much interesting today."

Well, I tried to suppress a grimace; I know for certain there is a fascinating article on page nine about the first person to swim across the English Channel. 'And she didn't have to say it to my face either! You don't hear me saying she looks like she has worms now do ya?'

Luckily all the kitchen girls didn't take her word for it; throughout the afternoon various girls would take a break and read parts of me. I much preferred the homely kitchen to the brisk library I previously occupied. And the girls were friendlier, except for that first girl. I decided it wasn't anything personal, she was rude to everyone.

As the day passed, other household members stopped by to read me. Apparently a routine had been set up long before I ever graced the house with my presence. It became darker and darker, and soon everyone went to bed. I was left on a corner table in the kitchen, by the glowing remains of the fire. This made me nervous, let me tell you. Fires and papers don't go well together, at least not from the paper's point of view.

I drifted off to sleep as drowsiness overcame my fear. I dreamed wonderful dreams: a trip to Hawaii, my own jet plane, a roller coaster built specially for newspapers.

Then I was jolted awake as the cook came back. Before I could even react, she picked me up and tossed me on the still glowing logs. I was consumed by flame, never to exist again...until the next edition, that is. 


End file.
